Welcoming Committee
by AzjolNerubian
Summary: Spock/McCoy. A frantic you're-not-dead-sex fic taking place after "The Immunity Syndrome" heavier R


Title: Welcoming Committee  
Rating: R or NC-17, can't tell.  
Characters: Spock/McCoy  
Series: Star Trek TOS  
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek. This is for fun.  
A/N: Written for st_tos_kink on livejournal. The request was _"A frantic you're-not-dead-sex fic taking place after "The Immunity Syndrome"."_

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It'd taken pushing through the crew_ and _Jim, but McCoy had finally cornered the Vulcan on the way out of the shuttle bay and ordered him immediately to sickbay. Knowing Spock, he'd want to just resume his duties, carry on as if he hadn't just stared death in the face. That wasn't going to happen on his watch.

A part of him (McCoy would never admit it), wanted to make sure Spock was in one piece. Spock seemed content to remain silent as they headed up the turbolift. That was fine with McCoy. He couldn't tell which he felt more, angry that Spock had taken the risk, had tried to refuse being rescued, or just plain, flat-out relieved. Until he'd firmly settled on one, he didn't trust himself to say anything outside of a professional standpoint.

They finally entered sickbay. Nurse Chapel looked up at the sound. The woman looked worn out. She'd been working double shifts lately. Although she was always getting on him for overworking, Christine was as prone to it as he was. They were both deeply involved in their work, which was fine, Starfleet loved that dedication but they both had some workaholic in them, and they both were their own worst patients. Christine had no problems telling him when he was at his limits. McCoy could return the favor.

"Go on, take lunch. I'll keep an eye around here."

"Thank you, doctor," Christine said gratefully. She rose, gathering up several notes. Her eyes lit upon Spock and she smiled at him warmly. "Welcome back, Mr. Spock."

Spock nodded at her, which McCoy guessed was his version of friendly. Christine swept out. The door slid shut after her. It looked like they had sickbay all to themselves. He didn't doubt there'd be some injured straggling in during the next few hours, not after all the rocking of the ship, but it was quiet for now. McCoy motioned for him to follow him into his office. Once inside, he rummaged around the room, coming up with a medical tricorder and scanner. The Vulcan stood patiently as McCoy slowly scanned him, painstakingly going over every inch. It took a good fifteen minutes before the doctor pulled back, eyes on the tricorder.

The information came back in a rush of clicks and beeps. Spock checked out clean. Whatever it'd been like in the creature, it hadn't affected him physically. He'd been worried that there would be some radiation or _something_.

McCoy put the instruments away. "Healthy as a horse, stubborn as a mule. Or a Vulcan."

"Of course. I believe I could have told you that. Vulcans are quite attuned to their bodies; more so than any non-Vulcan, even a doctor, could ever be," Spock said matter-of-factly. Was that a hint of pride there? McCoy was still too relieved Spock was back, alive, to jump on that just yet. Up until Spock continued; "Your idiom is flawed, as Earth mules aren't stubborn, but intelligent enough to know better, often more so than their human handler."

The doctor was certain he'd just been insulted.

McCoy could feel that familiar irritation building up fast. And to think he'd been _worried_ about the green-blooded bastard!

He settled for the next best thing. He pushed Spock against his desk, mouth crushed to his. It was more impulse than anything else. Between striking out, arguing with the damn Vulcan, and _this_ after what they'd just gone through, this'd seemed like the better alternative. Right up to that immediate second later, when he realized just what he was doing and to who. Embarrassed, McCoy started to draw back. He didn't get a chance to fully break off. Spock pulled him back into the kiss, hands keeping him firmly in place as the Vulcan explored his mouth at his own leisure. If McCoy hadn't been so surprised, he'd have melted into it. Instead, he just stood there awkwardly, somewhat at a loss. Being kissed back by a Vulcan wasn't anything like he'd thought it would be. He'd assumed it'd be cold and clinical, if they'd even indulged in it at all. Instead, he was finding that Spock was anything but that. He was testing and tasting every part of his mouth with a slow, methodical precision, sure, but it was warm, interested. McCoy felt as if what was left of his wits just drained clean right out, rushing south with the rest of him.

Spock finally released him. McCoy stared at him speechless. They were pressed against each other, Spock half sitting on the desk edge, McCoy's hips nestled against his own. Spock was regarding him with a keen interest, as if this was a possibility that he hadn't considered until now, but was now finding it attractive.

"Doctor McCoy, this is highly irregular, even for you," Spock started. He tilted his head slightly. "While I am aware of human customs, and close contact as a means of greeting and intimacy, I fail to see why you would indulge in it at this time. Or with me."

What was Ithat/i supposed to mean anyhow? McCoy could feel some sense rapidly returning to him, now that he didn't have a Vulcan trying to put a tongue down his throat.

He avoided the second remark. The last thing he wanted was Spock to know exactly just how worried he'd been.

"You don't need to keep calling me that right now," he grumbled. "This isn't a medical exam and you know it. Making me feel like I'm taking advantage of doctor-patient relationship here when you keep saying that."

The thought that he could ever do that was laughable, especially since McCoy wouldn't ever consider it; he had something called morals and human decency. There was also that fact that, as Vulcan, Spock could probably snap his neck at any time if he wanted. He wouldn't even break a sweat.

Spock lifted an eyebrow, as if to say '_obviously'_. "I gathered as much. What would you have me call you?"

i'McCoy'/i would've been just fine. He didn't need to be on a first name basis - it brought up too many reminders of his ex-wife - but even McCoy had his limits. He just didn't need to keep having a title between them all the time. He didn't run around calling Spock "First Officer" or "XO" or even "Mr. Spock" all the time, dammit.

"Well now, you could always try calling me 'Captain'," drawled McCoy with a partial smirk. Uhura would've called it cheeky. He'd been pretty sure that remark earlier ("Why, thank you _Captain _McCoy") had been a special brand of Vulcan-style sarcasm, but the _way _Spock had said it had done a number on him, despite the present danger.

"That would be in error, doctor, as you are lieutenant commander and Chief Medical Officer," Spock pointed out, even as he reversed their position, pushing McCoy against his desk. "As the chain of command goes, there are several officers above you before that would ever occur. Additionally, you would, I believe, be required to undergo the Bridge Officer's test in under to receive a full promotion to commander as well."

McCoy's smirk had dissolved. He scowled at him.

"You sure know how to ruin a good moment, you know that Spock?"

"Then that would only be due to human emotionalism and expectation. If one lacks emotion, then there would be no expectation of a 'good moment', and therefore nothing to 'ruin'."

The doctor did a double take. Had he gone mad or did Spock just crack a joke? Damned if he could tell. Spock was looking at him with that same, politely schooled expression of interest. The man might as well've just remarked on how pleasant the weather was, if Vulcans even cared about that. They probably didn't. At this rate, he'd have you believe that he wasn't slightly out of breath, or that he didn't have an (impressive) erection grinding against him. Spock was rubbing against him, slow, measured movements, but they were damned insistent. McCoy let out an unsteady breath.

Well, at least McCoy knew better now than to ever try and play poker against the man. Spock had an incredible poker face.

Almost as if in revenge, McCoy slid his hand down past Spock's waistband, where his hand wrapped around hot flesh. Spock shivered a little. It was barely noticeable, but for a Vulcan, it had to be something to get that reaction. McCoy teased at him, wondering how long before Spock's patience would hold out. Or his own.

Spock didn't waste any time. He pushed his pants down past his thighs, and pulled McCoy's clean off. The Vulcan pushed him to lie back against the desk. He stepped between the doctor's legs. McCoy supposed it was the logical thing to do, get right to the point, but he was too turned on to care much. It took some doing, but he managed to awkwardly reach into on of the drawers and draw out a small container, which he pressed into Spock's hands. They had these all over medbay, for if any of the crew ever needed it, but McCoy had never thought he'd be using it himself. Hopefully Spock got the message. McCoy had the talks plenty of times with patients, professional and matter-of-fact and to the point, but he didn't want to have to to interrupt this and start that here. Spock was Vulcan, that logical brain of his would figure it out.

Spock figured it out far sooner than he'd expected, because he'd coated his fingers with the stuff and was pressing them into the doctor's body immediately. McCoy jerked up in surprise, back arching, cursing. He continued to press inside, stretching and rubbing. It was starting to go beyond discomfort into surprisingly good. Each push and prod The doctor pulled him close, something to anchor onto, breathing hard. The Vulcan muttered something into his neck, something that sounded suspiciously like 'fascinating'.

The Vulcan started to push in. McCoy's jaw clenched. It was one thing to think about the logistics in a professional/medical sense. It was something to try it yourself. Spock didn't ask if he was all right. He didn't ask if he needed to slow down, not like a human would, or try to comfort. He simply observed that McCoy was doing his best not to let out every curse in the book, that his hands were balled into fists. Spock simply waited. McCoy decided he had the patience of a saint.

Finally, the pain slowly subsided, as his body relaxed. Spock seemed to feel it, and moved again. The Vulcan began to build up a rhythm and was soon pounding away. Each push and pull brushed over his prostrate, sent bolts of fire through him, through his limbs, his brain. Spock had leaned in close, breathing roughly into his ear. The sound was like a goddamn aphrodisiac to him, seemed to shoot right down to the erection pressed between their moving bodies. McCoy bit the closest thing in response, the lobe of his ear. That seemed to drive the Vulcan over the edge.

Spock had a hand on his hip, fingers pressed so hard that McCoy was sure there'd be bruises in a few hours. The other hand was at his head, at what had to be meld points. Despite the heady pleasure going through him, McCoy had the presence of mind left to regard that warily. The last time he'd had a mind meld had been at the hands of that mirror-universe Spock, and it had _hurt_, as if he'd just torn through every thought and memory. He wasn't near ready to repeat the experience, even if Spock wouldn't force his way in like the other had. He wasn't ready for Spock to see every bit of his mind or to lose that privacy. To his credit, Spock didn't push into his mind at all.

The pace was getting frantic. He couldn't tell what it was fueled by, long-standing antagonism, relief? McCoy wasn't sure, only that both were giving as good as they got. Spock drove into him and McCoy pushed back against him. A particularly hard shove and the doctor jerked, coming suddenly with a low groan, and Vulcan slammed into him a few more times before finally stiffening.

They collapsed across McCoy's desk. McCoy's chest heaved. He was going to definitely feel this in a few hours. Maybe even in a few minutes once the high wore off. Spock's face was buried in the crook of the doctor's shoulder. McCoy finally lifted his head, enough to turn it so he could look at Spock. The Vulcan was breathing hard, his eyes closed. He was obviously trying to get some semblance of control again. McCoy broke the silence anyway.

"So are you ever going to call me 'Captain' again?"

"No," Spock said flatly.

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Welcome back, Spock."

(end)


End file.
